The Light
by kuntakintae
Summary: Three long years has passed since the dragons invaded the present World, and humans are on the brink of extinction. Mages are used as tributes to the Dragons so that they would not hunt humans underground. However, it would only be so long before the dragons decided to kill them off. Only the Dragon slayers can save them, but they are supposedly dead. But are they? Nalu R&R!


**Just a random idea :) Will try to find time updating this, but no promises since this is not my main story and i have another story in line :/ anyway enjoy!**

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_July 7__th__, X794_

"It's a thousand and five hundred jewels," The tavern owner grunted, his gruff voice filling the small, empty lobby.

"It's expensive," The woman, cloaked from head to toe, with a hood pulled over her head so as to hide her identity, stated blatantly.

"Take it or leave it. It's hard to survive nowadays," The owner replied without hesitation. The woman stood still, seemingly contemplating over her choices.

It was already midnight. It was dangerous to walk around at midnight, even thought they were hidden well underground. Robbers, thieves, even rogue mages could kidnap you and give you up for ransom as long as you're a mage.

"Deal," The woman replied coldly, placing said amount onto the desk. The owner eyed the money, and then reached below the desk and retrieved a rust-coated metal key.

"Room 208," He informed her. She nodded curtly, her gloved hand snatching the key off the table swiftly and silently before walking towards the poorly maintained wooden stairway leading to the rooms.

The stairs groaned eerily under her weight as she climbed. Her shadow flickered along with the weak light emitted from the pathetically small flames produced by the wax candles attached to the walls at both sides.

As the woman walked down the dimly lit hallway, she carefully eyed her surroundings, her body tense and ready to spring into action if the slightest bit of trouble appeared.

The smell of disgusting low-grade beer and piss hung heavily in the air, causing the woman to increase her pace so that she would be able to reach her room and hopefully be blessed with a better air than the current one she was in.

Her light steps echoed through the hallway, with nothing but the creaks of the wooden floor accompanying them. Her eyes scanned through the poorly carved numbers on the doors at either side.

As soon as her eyes caught sight of the numbers "208", she increased her pace even more, eager to reach the room as quickly as possible.

Finally, she stood in front of the heavy oak door. She held her breath as she lifted the key and slid it into the keyhole. She muttered a silent prayer to gods she didn't believe before attempting to turn the key.

With an audible "click" which echoed ominously, the door unlocked. As fast as lightning, the woman opened the door and went into fighting stance.

She slowly crept into the room, her eyes darting in all directions, adrenaline pumping wildly through her veins as she took careful steps forward.

She softly breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed as soon as she saw that nothing in the room was out of the ordinary. No assassin could hide in the room, seeing how empty and small it was, and no bombs or traps were set as far as she could see.

As swift as a panther, she turned around, shut the door behind her and locked it. She then took the time to observe the room more carefully.

It was a really small room, lit by a single wax candle placed on the wooden desk at the side. There was a metal-grilled window which allowed air to enter and escape, ventilating the room. A stiff-looking bed was placed against the wall opposite the desk, and that was it.

A huge wave of grief washed over her as she recalled times when motels were much more luxurious, where rooms were much more spacious and living standards were much higher. Along with it came a stream of memories that caused her to spill tears uncontrollably.

She shook her head violently, her tears flying across the air before landing on the hard, dusty wooden floor.

There was no point in crying over the past. Nothing would ever bring her back to those times.

Where life was much simpler. Much more fun and happy. Much more carefree and exhilarating.

Much more peaceful.

And yet, even after three years of telling herself those things, she couldn't help but sob and sob every time the damn memories surfaced in her mind.

It has been three years since the dragons came. Three years since human fell and were forced to hide underground. Three years since she had lost her arm.

Three years since every one she knew disappeared off the face of the Earth, never to be seen again.

Her hood slipped off as her body shook, letting her silky yellow hair tumble down, revealing her beautiful face, marred by the angry slash-scar on her left cheek.

And there she lay, crying and sobbing, letting the maelstrom of emotions bottled up inside her for the day run free in the form of water droplets cascading down her cheeks.

And she cried. Cried for the many people who had died. Cried for the loss arm, which had held one of her most precious belongings-, the fairy tail insignia. Cried for the loss of her guild.

Cried for the loss of her closest friend, who had sacrificed his life for her to survive and live on.

Lucy Heartphillia, the last celestial wizard left on Earth, the holder of the twelve golden keys, a member of what once was the most revered and renowned mage guild in Magnolia and possibly the World, cried for her best friend, whom without him, she would never have been any of the abovementioned.

Natsu Dragneel.


End file.
